


Connection

by samstoleaburger



Series: Here we are again (like clockwork) [1]
Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, I Tried, I'm Bad At Titles, Past Lives, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samstoleaburger/pseuds/samstoleaburger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's got empty eyes and an empty soul, having nothing else to give.</p><p>It's unnerving to witness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connection

**Author's Note:**

> Dante's more or less a passing mention near the end...just to get that out of the way.
> 
> This more or less focuses on Vergil (both of them) and an idea I might dabble with when I feel like typing up a fic of it that's worthy of being read. However, that depends on if I actually do it or not. For now, I'll just leave this here and be on my way.

Some days he sees a man in the mirror he doesn't recognize, and yet he feels like he should. They're different, and yet they're the same. Vergil feels an undeniable connection with this man.  
  
A man who is older than he is, run ragged and tired. He's got this aura about him that's ice cold, tempting one to touch even if they know it will hurt the second they make contact. He looks exhausted, barely managing to stay on his feet, as if he's been fighting for years with no ceasefire. Even so, he's proud, has this arrogant air as if he's untouchable. There's chaos and murder in his eyes, and Vergil's come to believe that it's because all he's seen is battle and endless bloodshed.  
  
His skin is rubbed raw some days, caked in blood and guts, eyes as hollow as he probably feels on those days. It's hard for Vergil to tell sometimes if he should bother giving a mirror a passing glance.  
  
But, under all of this, he's realized that this man isn't tired in the sense of continuous fighting, but because he's emotionally _drained_. Like all his reasons for fighting are gone and he's only doing it to survive. He's got empty eyes and an empty soul, having nothing else to give.  
  
It's unnerving to witness.  
  
There's also regret lying beneath. He'll look off to the side, chapped lips parting to exhale, slow and pained. As if he's not sure on whether or not he wants to sigh or simply breathe.  
  
It's palpable, this anguish and sadness.  
  
Yet Vergil doesn't understand just what has caused this in the man.  
  
Some days Vergil stays in his room, staring at this man and wondering just why he feels a deep, unexplainable connection. They don't look too alike aside from the color of their hair and eyes. This man is much older than he is, yet is still too young to look this old and haggard. He's a man full of regrets of the life he led before ending up wherever he is. Sometimes Vergil will reach up and touch the amulet his mother gave him, clutching it tight and never letting go.  
  
When he does this, the reflection will reach for his own with a sad, _sad_ smile and look so, _so_ sorry for what he'd done.  
  
It makes him wonder what the cause of such sadness is, even as he's searching constantly for Dante. A drive, motivation, a need to find his brother and know he's still alive. It motivates him, keeps him going even when he feels all hope is lost. The man in the mirror seems to feel the same some days.  
  
And when Vergil finally finds him, there's a huge rush of relief that nearly overtakes him when Dante's standing in front of him. He looks healthy. Rugged and messy, but still healthy and very much alive. Vergil wants to reach out and pull him in, something resonating deep inside telling him to grab hold and _never let go_. It screams at him, floods through his senses and he wants nothing more than to do it.  
  
That is until Dante tells him he doesn't remember him.  
  
It crushes him. More than Dante would ever know because he's been searching _everywhere_ , with little to no success most days. His heart clenches in his chest and he has to stop himself from breaking down, as if his soul is in the utmost agony and it won't stop _hurting_.  
  
Finally, he decides to ask what just might salvage this pain, "How much of your childhood do you remember?"


End file.
